Loving nature is often a oxymoron, seeing as nature can't love.
By this reasoning, it can't be loved, only appreciated.
Stop the Ozone Destruction, with your feul-guzzling-God-cars,
Station wagons plead redemption for the 'sins' of smoking,
Feeling lighter than air are the ones giving explosions.
But for all this, I cannot be made the blamed,
For trying to save the place we live,
I am the blamed, and in the end, only we can stop it...
...But, it's too late.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem